From Nain To Okak
Monday, August 27th, 1888.—When I rose, our ship was being slowly towed by her boats out of the bay in search of a fair breeze. About eleven we had to put down the anchor, as wind and current forbade our attempting to pass between “the Turnpikes,” two rocks in the narrow channel before us. Here we lay all the day among islands. Barth, to our left, is so called in honour of Dr. Barth of Calw, the compiler of a Bible history translated by our missionaries into Eskimo, as well as into the languages of several other people evangelized by our church. Rhodes, to our right, is named after James Rhodes, a native of Gomersal, Yorkshire, who was a missionary here for twenty-six years, 1771-1797. Lister, the snowy hill beyond, perpetuates the memory of Christian Lister, another Yorkshireman, who crowned seventeen years of service in Labrador by thirteen in Jamaica. It is well to be thus reminded that the British Province of four missionary Unitas Fratrum had several representatives in this mission field a hundred years ago. William Turner (twenty-two years’ service, 1771-93) was a native of Halifax; and James Bramagin (1775-94) of Lurgan in the north of Ireland; Samuel Towle (1782-91) came from the neighbourhood of Ockbrook, Derbyshire, and Henry Shaw (1806-13) was again a Yorkshireman. Further, Mary Butterworth (1771-84), of Birstal in Yorkshire, gave herself to this mission as the wife of Jens Haven, its founder; and later Mary Waters (1812-31), of Dukinfield in Lancashire, married George Kmoch for similar service.
Yonder fjord running far inland is the Nunaingoak Bay, which, conveniently for the natives, embodies the foreign name given to their station. Nain itself is behind that neck of land, on which our friends have lit a fire as a signal that they perceive our vessel has not as yet been able to leave them very far behind.
What a study of colour this evening effect would make! The sun has just set and the sky to the north and west is orange, shading off into yellow along the horizon. Between these curiously bright hues and their fainter reflection on the rippling water, the nearer islands are black as ink and the further mountains indigo.
Tuesday, August 28th.—Besides the missionary pair, who are accompanying me all the way from Hopedale to Europe, my fellow passengers are now the superintendent, who has acceded to my request to go with us to Okak, and a young missionary, transferred from Nain to Ramah.
When I went on deck this morning we had passed the Turnpikes and were gliding very slowly seawards between islands. The one which faced us all the morning is called Tappé, after a worthy missionary, still living, who served some years in Labrador, before going to Jerusalem in 1867, to be the first “house-father” of the Leper Home. About noon a fresh breeze sent us northward swiftly and safely through several narrow and awkward passages. We passed two or three Newfoundland fishing schooners, whose crews were doubtless interested to see the “Dutch Bark,” or the “foreigner” as they called the “Harmony.” Our other vessel, the “Gleaner,” calls at St. John’s, so she is not a foreigner in the estimation of Newfoundland mariners. About two o’clock we were off the island memorable for the shipwreck in which Brasen and Lehmann lost their lives. Later we passed the rocks on to which Liebisch and Turner escaped as by a miracle, when a sudden storm broke up the ice over which they had been travelling. The scene must have been terrific. One moment the frightened dogs drawing their sledges were being urged at utmost speed over the leagues of heaving, cracking ice. The nest, the shore was reached, and the missionaries were overwhelmed with astonishment as they turned and looked upon a raging, foaming sea, whose wild waves had already shattered the frozen surface as far as the eye could reach. Even the heathen Eskimoes with them joined in praising God for the wonderful deliverance.
This part of the coast is rugged and grand. There is a good deal of snow on the heights of Aulatsivik and the northern extremity of that great island is a bold precipitous cliff. Port Mauvers, at the mouth of the narrow strait, which separates Aulatsivik from the mainland, figures so prominently as a name upon most maps of Labrador, that one might suppose it to be at least the capital. But there are no inhabitants there, nor indeed all along the coast between Nain and Okak. Kiglapeit, to the north, is so splendid a mountain range that I am quite sorry we shall pass it in the dark. We are getting more into the open sea as evening advances, and there are icebergs to be seen here and there.
Come into the captain’s cabin and look at this little budget of letters. They are notes from Eskimoes at our southern stations to their relatives and friends in the north. Some are funny little pencilled scraps folded and oddly directed, e.g. “Kitturamut-Lucasib, Okak.” That means “To Keturah (the wife) of Lucas or Luke, at Okak.” Our Eskimoes seem to have a talent for phonetic spelling; “ilianuramut” is evidently “To Eleanor,” and “Amaliamut-kuniliusip, Okak,” is meant for “Amalia (the wife) of Cornelius at Okak.” Some are very respectable epistles, and I doubt not the Christian tone of most would please us could we read the Eskimo language, with its strange long words. Here is a good-sized letter folded and directed in a bold clear hand, “Sosanemut-Andoneb, Hibron” (To Susannah, the wife of Antony at Hebron). It is not sealed, so, as we shall scarcely understand a word of its contents, we will venture to open it and glance at them. It is a well-written letter, covering three pages of blue foolscap paper, so it must be conveying a good deal of news to Antony and Susannah. The writer names himself at the commencement, “Boas-Kedoralo.” “Lo” is Eskimo for “and,” and “Kedora” is another phonetic version of Keturah. He closes his long epistle with “Amen.”
The Eskimoes also write the names of their missionaries with considerable variations as to spelling. “Pinsilamut” might be the address of a letter to Mr. Bindschedler, and I have seen “Karizima”’ stand for Mr. Kretschmer. The natives have no idea of such titles as Mr. or Mrs., and they still call the majority of their missionaries by their Christian names.
Wednesday, August 29th.—5 A.M. The sun just rising. We are between Lundberg Island and the Saddle, so named from its shape. Its “stirrups,” two little rocks, are supplemented by a great, white berg. To the south-west Kiglapeit is still visible, and to the west are the hills on Okak Island, including “Smith Hill,” so called after Tiger SchmittA of South African fame. I did not know before that the good man had also been a missionary in Labrador. How ready our forefathers were to go anywhere, everywhere, if only they could “win one soul for the Saviour!” The grandest mountain in the landscape is Cape Mugford. Yes, it does look like Salisbury Crags on a large scale, as a missionary remarked to me last year on the Calton Hill in Edinburgh.
In the course of the morning Okak came in sight, visible at a much greater distance than any other station. Another hour and we had entered the bay and were approaching our anchorage. A very numerous company gathered on the pier and sang; how or what I could not hear for the rattling of our iron cable. Then the “Kitty” came off to us, bringing the missionaries Schneider, Stecker, and Schaaf, and seventeen natives.
Soon after we got ashore to be welcomed also by the three sisters, the mist, which we had seen gathering round the Saddle, came in from the sea, first drawing a broad, white stripe straight across the entrance of the bay, then gradually enveloping everything. Experience of driving to and fro off this coast in such a fog makes one doubly thankful to be safe ashore, with our good ship riding at anchor in the bay.
Footnotes
A See “Conquests of the Cross” (an admirable Missionary Serial, published by Cassell & Co.), Part I., p. 20.